Just Another Day...

As my friend and I sat in a bar in Provincetown on Tuesday, I remembered something that I have forgotten for the past 13 years - my anniversary.

She was checking her cell phone for text messages and came across a text from a friend that was pretty funny. After she read his message to me, I asked when he sent it, and she said, "Oh, it's old. He sent it on August 26th."

Now, I'm not going to lie and say that it clicked right away that Tuesday when we were sitting in the bar was the 26th, but eventually a couple brain cells of mine woke up, and I said, "Today is the 26th, isn't it?" My friend looked at me funny and said, "Oh, yeah." I think she looked at her phone to see if it was actually the 26th, but that's okay. We're getting on in years now.

We both cracked up and made fun of what idiots we are for not even knowing what day it was, pointed out how we actually never really know what day it is anymore unless it's a work day or we're standing in front of our calendars, and then we made excuses for not knowing such a mundane fact as what day it is.

I started watching the TV in the bar, took a couple sips off my beer, and then it hit me like a bitch slap from an angry drag queen - August 26th was the day I got married 13 years ago. "Holy shit," I say, "today is my anniversary." "Really," says my friend. "Really! It's the first time I've ever remembered on the actual date."

We laughed and started reminiscing about that day on a cliff in Bermuda when my husband and I finally said "I do" in front of twelve of our close friends and family and a chubby little minister in Bermuda shorts and those ridiculous knee socks the men insist on wearing.

We laughed about going shopping for my dress at the mall and paying $100 for it and her pretty, skin-tight dress which turned out to be see-through in all of my wedding photos. I loved both dresses, and I love the nipple/muff shots which still mortify her to this day.

At least I was enjoying my anniversary with someone who was there that momentous day. In my defense, the husband never remembers either, and neither one of us cares. We've been together 25 years, so it's not really a big deal for us. We don't buy each other presents, not even a card. We usually remember sometime in September when we think about the giant party we had at our house for all of those who weren't inclined to hop on a plane to Bermuda just to watch two people that had already been together for 12 years tie the knot.

I called my husband to dazzle him with my ability to remember such an important piece of our history, but he didn't answer. I told myself I'd call him later, and we got into the whole marriage debate over our Guinness; ie, is it necessary, is it worth it, would we ever do it again, and I pretty much have the same take on it now that I did all of those years ago. I don't believe it is necessary. It is worth it sometimes. No, I probably wouldn't do it again, unless we had two houses.

In reality, we may not even truly be married, as the bitch in the town hall pointed out when I presented her with the signed Bermuda paperwork after we got home. It doesn't even matter. I don't feel the need to have a piece of paper to define our relationship. I firmly believe that monogamy is right for me, and I'm loyal as a dog. He seems to feel the same, so here we are still together after 25 years, 16 of which we've lived together. Living together day in and day out is the only hard part for me.

I can fuck the same guy forever it seems, but that doesn't mean I want to look at him every morning for the rest of my life; hence, the two houses stipulation for any subsequent marriage. If we're annoying each other, one of us can just head over to the other fully stocked house for a few days until we cool off.

There's been lots of ups and downs, times when we've HATED each other over the years, but we always seem to be able to get past it and remain good friends. Even when we hate the other as husband/wife material, we can't seem to give up on the friendship.

I don't know if we're really married, but later Tuesday evening I called home and woke Mr. Man up to wish him HAPPY ANNIVERSARY in song, of course. He seemed really happy that I remembered, remarked at how drunk us ladies sounded, requested some sexual favors for his anniversary present when I got home and then told me he loved me.

Isn't he sweet?